


You Crawled Out of the Sea (Straight Into My Arms)

by Rossinante



Category: Black Sails
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Hospital, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Sleeping Beauty Fusion, Canon Disabled Character, F/F, M/M, Sleeping Beauty Elements, its a murder mystery wrapped in a love story, wrapped in me being terrible at writing proper plots
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-23
Updated: 2016-08-23
Packaged: 2018-08-10 15:20:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,233
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7850230
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rossinante/pseuds/Rossinante
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>James McGraw has been going through the motions for the last five years, since Thomas death.<br/>He's trapped in the past but:<br/>With the arrival of a John Doe with a strangely familiar face and Miranda's decision move on, James life begins to change.</p>
            </blockquote>





	You Crawled Out of the Sea (Straight Into My Arms)

**Author's Note:**

> here we go, my first attempt at a one-shot. Sorry if it makes no sense, im stressed and sleep deprived!
> 
> elements of sleeping beauty (barely)  
> mention of suicide and car accidents to warn anyone who needs it!  
> this is a one-shot- so also be warned; cliff hangerrr
> 
> please be gentle, im still trying to improve my writing x

James has worked at Nassau General as a EMT for five years to this day. He ponders this over a fresh cup of syrupy coffee at five o'clock in the morning, noticing the date on the calendar of terrible water colours. He stirs the third sachet of sugar into the drink, lost in thought until Dr. Gates thumps him on the shoulder. 

"Happy anniversary, mate." The rotund man greets. So he remembers too. James sighs, raises his cup in cheers, and sits at the table. Dr. Gates chuckles as he makes himself a cup too. "Well calm down about it why don'tcha, some people might think you actually enjoy working here." 

The coffee tastes burnt and the sugar hurts James' teeth as he chokes it down, too desperate for an energy boost to care. "With such excellent company, why wouldn't I?" He replies witheringly. 

"Exactly. Any-who, got rounds to make." Dr. Gates picks up his drink and gathers a stack of files under his elbow. In the doorway he turns back to James. "You up for a pint later?"

James hums noncommittally, and after five years of acquaintanceship- at some point becoming friendship, unbeknownst to James- Dr. Gates knows that's the best he's going to get. 

He manages another half an hour of peaceful solitude with his terrible coffee and a typically exquisite sunrise washing the room in orange light, before the nurses arrive. Idelle and her cohorts come in, Drive Thru coffee in hand to James jealously, already perky and ready to start changing bedpans. He admires their ability to take everything like water of a ducks back, and leave at night with the same- if slightly more tired- smile on their face.

Maybe it's just youthfulness he realises, as he folds the newspaper under his arm and leaves with a muttered greeting as he brushes by Idelle. 

He passes Dr. Gates, already engaged in heated conversation with Billy Bones over what to do about little old Beatrice and her infected eye. Billy passionately waves his arms as Dr. Gates glares on with his folded, waiting for his turn to speak. Billy is the best nurse in the hospital, James is sure- he cares about every patient, no matter how tedious or insignificant. 

Pediatrics is already teeming with anxious new parents, and James only catches of glimpse of Miranda crouched beside a stoic face mother with a tiny baby in her arms. Her hair is tied back, but strands are already escaping around her neck and a stain that resembles baby sick is smudged on the lapel of her lab coat. She looks up while talking and meets James eyes, sending him a soft smile before returning to her patient. 

The smile does more to motivate him that that God awful coffee, and he takes the elevator to the ambulance dock. He watches the digital number descend to the basement floor, and feels a set of eyes looking up at him. Next to him a father stands looking haggard, with a small boy clutching his hand and staring at James with the usual childish curiosity. Most children are fascinated by the paramedic uniform, with all its pockets and reflective gear.

The doors open and the child is dragged away, still glancing over his shoulder at James until he disappears around the corner. 

"Morning Doctor Flint." Abbie chirps from the passenger sear of the ambulance, almost making him jump out of his skin. Abbie came to Nassau two years ago, and refuses to call him by his first name. Even though he hasn't been a doctor for five years, his first name might as well be 'Doctor' to her. 

"Good morning, Abbie." He finally replies, self-conscious of his tone genuinely afraid he'll make her cry one day and alienate every nurse in the hospital- especially Billy Bones. He starts the rig and pulls out of the dock, into the street. He prays they don't get a call before they reach a Drive Thru somewhere on the main road, but alas the radio crackles and a call about a body on the sea front comes through.

"This is Ambulance 12, we got this, thank you. Over." Abbie replies and sets the radio back on the dashboard.

"You don't have to say thank you." James says as he switches on the lights, and swerves around the dawdling fiat.

"Pardon?" Abbie looks up from the kit in her lap.

"Nothing." He sighs. It's a ten minutes drive to the bay, but it becomes five with the lights flickering over them. There's a small crowd by the time James pulls up and hops down from the drivers seat. 

"Make a space people." Abbie yells, her timid manner suddenly replaced by one of command, although her voice does termour briefly. James pushes past a topless, round bellied tourist and pauses when he sees the body. 

The man is young, a bit younger than Jame, but he's in a goddamn state. His curly hair is caked in sand and blood from a nasty gash on his forehead, James can't wincing at. What makes James stop in tracks is how familiar he looks. It's haunting, like it's on the tip of his tongue. 

"Doctor Flint?" Abbie questions for her kneeling position beside the man's head. Right. Get to work, James. He kneels and takes out the stethoscope, pressing it through the gap in his shirt and listening as carefully as he can with twittering spectators around. 

"Airways are clear." Abbie confirms, "he didn't drown." 

"He's alive, Abbie." James murmurs, a weak but steady heart beating in his ears. "Probably concussed, and his leg looks pretty bad. Get the blankets and the gurney." Abbie runs back to the rig, kicking up sand. James folds the stethoscope away, and brushes the sand and hair away from the man's face. He pats his pockets but finds no wallet. Abbie pushes the gurney up to them, thankfully they are on the least sandy part of the sea front, and lowers it. They manhandle a head brace on, and strap him into the gurney without much trouble. 

"Please get out of the way." James says loudly to the last of the people who hadn't gotten bored and left. They move easily aside and James wheels the gurney to the back of the rig. 

Abbie drives and calls in the incident as James checks the patient over again. His injuries are isolated to the head, and his left leg which is horrible condition- James has never seen one this bad before, great gouges in the flesh that sluggishly bleed. James is sure they're going to have to remove it. He carefully attached the cannula of medicine, and starts working on the leg- cutting away the blood soaked denim until the wounds are more visible. 

They pull up to the entrance and Dr. Gates is there to meet them with the trauma surgeon James can't remember the name of. "Serious trauma to the left leg, he needs a blood transfusion for sure." James calls to Dr. Gates as he pushes the gurney through the automatic doors. "Minor head trauma at a glance, probably concussed. No ID." 

"Thanks. We'll take it from here, guys." The surgeon says, gripping the bars of the gurney and pulling it into the cubical. The curtains are pulled in front of James, and he listens to them call for a nurse. An uneasy feeling settles over him as his pulses slows to a normal rate. 

"Doctor? Are you okay?" Abbie asks behind him. 

"Sure." He replies quietly. She gives him an odd look before walking away, back to the ambulance. 

\- 

At the end of his shift James' feet ache and his hands are sore from stitching up drunk assholes in the back of the rig ten minutes ago. He walks up the stairs to the Doctor's break room, hoping to run into Miranda there. Instead he finds the surgeon tapping away on his phone as he sips a drink- green tea by the nasty smell. 

"Hi." The man says with a charming smile and James grunts in reply, busying himself with the coffee pot. "You're James Flint right? I've heard a lot about you." That doesn't bode well, James thinks, and steels himself for some foolish comment about how admirable it is to have become a paramedic after what happened. Instead the surgeon nods and goes back to his texting. A little confused, James makes to leave but the surgeon makes a noise of exclamation. "Oh, that John Doe you brought in? He's stable. Well he's in a coma, and we had to remove most of his leg below the knee. But..." The surgeon trails off and shrugs. 

James leaves, looking forward to a real meal at home but he stops at the nurses station, curiosity overwhelming. He quickly flips through the list of new admitants and finds John Doe's room number; 132.5. 

He almost walks past the room, so lost in thought, but catches himself and steps back to the door. Inside it's eerily quite, a feeling James remembers well from night shift but with daylight outside it's unnerving. The blinds are open, letting a ladder of light cross the floor, and the room smells fresh. James finds this in popular patients rooms, the bleached chemical smell always mingling with a floral scent of bouquets from family and sympathetic friends. In 132.5 it's a salty fresh scent, like someone's come here straight from the sea (well, they have). 

As James approaches the bed he sees under the ugly cream bedding John Doe's body, obtrusive wires attached to his skin. Above the covers the only evidence of injury is the thick, puckered sticking of a surgical scar on his forehead. Except the blanket covering his body dips below his left thigh, telling a very different story to the surface. 

Yet, James sees none of this- entirely transfixed by John Doe's sleeping face. Now clear of dirt and sand, James can see him clearly for the first time and it shocks him. His beautiful angular cheekbones are pronounce beneath ill, pale skin and the soft lines on them are a shadow of a person who laughs more than he talks. 

"James? I thought that was you, what're y-" Dr. Gates calls cheerily as he comes into the room, but he pauses. "You okay, mate?" 

"I... Yes." James murmurs then looks up at Dr. Gates furrowed expression. "Sorry what's the matter?" 

Dr. Gates looks at James over absent spectacles then shakes his head. "Nothing, you just look like you've seen a ghost, mate. I'll see you tomorrow." 

He's standing outside the entrance in a jacket with a cigarette between his lips and a lighter in his limp hand when Miranda finds him. He watches a plane glide overhead, the lights of its wings glowing against the purplish night sky. Miranda walks out, uniform covered by a long blue coat, her shoulders drawn up against the cold. 

"Hi." James says, finally lighting his cigarette. 

"I thought you quit?" Miranda replies, her eyes narrowed in motherly disapproval. 

"Mmm. Only on weekdays." He replies, inhaling deeply and revealing in the relief it brings. Miranda sighs and leans against the wall, pulling the band from her hair and shaking her hair loose. 

"I'm on call tonight." She says, grimacing at the floor. 

"Do you want me to stay? I can swap shifts with Muldoon." James asks, the idea of going back to an empty apartment is foreboding. He's sure Miranda knows this. 

"Sure. It's a Sunday things'll probably we quiet." Miranda says, smiling at him with warmth James needs like a child needs their mother's arms. He watches her walk away, realising the love he has for her isn't the same as it once was. A sweet desirous love, has become a motherly comfort. He still feels like they're tip-toeing around each other even now, and Miranda constantly seems on the edge of saying something. 

He puts out the hardly burned cigarette and follows her back inside. 

Somehow he ends up there again; 132.5. Muldoon says he avoiding his girlfriend at the moment, so he declines James' offer to swap shifts. So James ends up wandering the halls, pausing to talk to a Nurse or stealing a Mars bar from the vending machine. But eventually his feet carry him up the stairs, and onto the quite ward. 

The room is dark now, beside the soft glow of a lamp next to the bed and the monitors reassuring green light. James watches John Doe's chest rise and fall weakly. The feeling in his gut is akin to deja-vu, except it's more like looking at an old photograph. There's a face in the frame you know, you feel something for, but there's no name to put to the face. John Doe's face looks even more skeletal in the dim light, shadows cast by his cheek and forehead making him look more gaunt. 

He glances at the open door and, with some hesitation, takes the chair by the bed. He can't find any words for a minute, hands idlely fiddling with the ring on his finger as he thinks. 

"Do I know you?" He asks and immediately feels foolish. He sits back with a huff, and listens to the monitor beeps steadily. A few hours later he wakes up with a crick in his neck and an empty stomach. He sheepishly leaves, texting Miranda that he's gone home. 

\- 

They eat breakfast quietly, it's not unusual but Miranda is watching him like she's preparing to ask him a question again. James patiently waits for her to decide her next move, flipping through the paper as he chews on a slice of toast. 

"James--" 

"Yes." 

Miranda sets her cup back down on the saucer and takes her time swallowing her mouthful of tea. "I think I should move out." 

That isn't what he had expect James will admit, and although his heart starts to race in a panic, he calmly folds the paper onto his lap. 

"Oh?" It comes out in more of a squeeze than he likes. 

"Yes. In fact I think we both need to leave this place." Miranda continues, finding her confidence, "the place is full of memories of Thomas, and who we were before. I think we need... fresh starts. I love you, James, but it's too painful here." 

It hurts to hear. The no so distant memories all comes flooding back at that moment, and James can't help but agree. Thomas' shadow follows them in this house, it lingers in the dusty bookshelves and the bedroom, and the cracked mug at the back of the cupboard. Instead of a fond recollection, all James sees is the night of the car crash. Thomas' unconscious body in the drivers seat of the upturned car, Miranda crying in behind him, the pain of a broken arm and cracked ribs. 

"Okay." It hurts to say- like three broken ribs. But Miranda's sad smile, and her hand taking his with a gentle squeeze, is some kind of turning point- his broken bones can start to heal now. 

\- 

It's raining when James arrives for his night shift, a soft drizzle that threatens a storm coming from the sea. A large wet leaf smacks him in the face as he gets out the car, and he curses loudly much to the dismay of an elderly man locking his car two spaces over. James is feeling tetchy, and he can hardly be blamed for it. They've been packing for the last few day, slowly going through Thomas things after six years of dust and dismay. It's rubbing salt into a barely healed wounds, and both Miranda and James are at their wits end- it's the reason he took the night shift, to give her a break. 

He marches inside, holding his collar up against his cheek to protect him from further assault by mother nature. The Doctor's break room is empty thankfully, so James makes a cup of coffee- it's better from here than the paramedic's break room. 

There's ten minutes before his shift starts, so he goes to 312.5. There's a fresh bunch of lavender in a simple vase on the window sill James notices as he sits. Someone's brushed his hair back too, the curls tucked neatly behind his ears. 

"Can I help you?" 

James jerks in his seat, almost spilling coffee over his lap. A dark skinned woman stands in the doorway, arms crossed defensively. Her thick black eyeliner is smudged around the edges like she's been crying and there's a balled up tissue in her hand. James realised he's staring and quickly stands. 

"Sorry, I didn't- are you a friend?" James stutters. How does a John Doe have a visitor? 

"I am, which is how I know you're not a friend of his." She says accusingly, her French accent more prominent in her agitation. 

"I'm a paramedic, actually. I'm the one who brought him in... If you're such a good friend why haven't you claimed him? He's been lying here for days now, his family could be worried." James replies angrily. The woman winces, her shoulders drooping guiltily. She pulls up a second chair from the corner of the room and sits heavily. Her hair is almost as curly as John Doe's, James wonders if she's his sister. 

"Please sit." She says quietly, waving a hand at the chair. James sits again, watching her instead of John Doe. "I was out of the city. I had business in the interior. Imagine my surprise when I come home and find my closest friend is in a coma." Her laugh is hollow. 

"What's his name?" James blurts, curiosity scratching away at his patience. 

The woman smiles fondly. "John Silver." 

"Seriously?" 

"Ironic non?" James isn't sure if it qualifies, but he remains silent gaze moving between the woman and John Silver. 

"It's not your fault." He says suddenly, remembering the guilt he felt for Thomas. "Whatever happened, you could have stopped it. He wouldn't blame you." There words he wished someone had spoken to him after the car crash. Even though he wouldn't have believed them, hearing them then would have been... something. 

"You're sweet." She says, although her look is skeptical. "My name is Max." 

"James Flint." 

"So you saved him, hmm?" Max asks. She dabs at her eyes but only succeeds in smudging the kohl more. 

"I wouldn't go that far. The surgeons did the miracle work. I just thought I'd... check on him, before my shift starts." James finishes dumbly. He avoids Max's reaction by reaching for his coffee. 

"That's above and beyond, do you do that for all of your patients?" 

"No, no. I thought I recognised him." James says slowly, picking his words that'll make him seem the least crazy. "I mean I thought I knew him, but I don't." 

"So why are you here?" Max asks. James can't hear any judgment in her tone and he unclenches the fist he didn't realise was clenched. 

"I want to know him." He says the words before he realises they are true, and it seem to please Max. 

"How romantic." Max chuckles. James feels his cheeks burn and ducks his head. "Don't be embarrassed, I've heard of stranger things in my line of work." James wants to ask exactly what that would be. "As has our John. But I'm afraid he'd fine this whole things rather silly, he's a bit of a skeptic when it comes to true love." 

Max looks taken aback by James spluttering into his coffee. She's a romantic, and James won't deny he himself is one at heart but true love? That died with Thomas in a ditch off the A1. 

"As am I." James decides to say, not quite ready to split his entire life story to a perfect stranger. He sighs deeply and sits back in the squeaky chair, resting the cup on his knee. Max says nothing more and they sit in companionable silence for a while, watching John Silver breath and listening to the beep that accompanies every inhale and exhale. 

Nurse Harrington comes striding in, all business, with a fresh set of bandages. Harrington glances between James and Max, and she taps her watch before leaving again. James realised his shift started ten minutes ago. 

"Visiting hours are almost over." He says too Max, who looks startled by his presence. She nods solemnly and gathers her bag and coat. 

James walks her to the elevator, and as they wait for it to arrive Max turns to him with a slip of paper in her hand. 

"This my mobile number, in case you want to talk or-" She lifts her shoulders and takes a deep breath, "-or incase something happens." 

He nods and tucks the paper into his back pocket next to his spare pen and a blue hair band. The lift dings and Max steps inside, turning to James as she pressed the button and gives a feeble wave. James stands there for several minutes, fumbling with the ring on his hand until Harrington tells him Miss Guthrie is waiting for him in her office. 

Eleanor Guthrie is the acting administrator of Nassau Hospital, and a damn good one if she says so herself. Her father passed tragically a few months ago and since the funeral Eleanor has completely redirected hospital resources to more productive avenues, and most of the hospital appreciates her for that. 

Yet, she can't escape her reckless youth before inheriting her wealth and responsibility as soul heir to the Guthrie estate. A wild youth, spend rebelling from her father's abandonment and neglect of her and her mother. She fell in love with a man almost twice her age, handsome and cruel around the edges. But it was too late before she realised that cruelty was much darker than she first thought. 

Their affair ended in the living room of the Guthrie mansion, with Eleanor's father bludgeoned at her feet and Charles before her, clutching the bloody statue of Ophelia. He smiled at her with adrenaline fueled excitement, and Eleanor screamed for him to leave right now. 

"He fell down the stairs, hit his head." Mr. Scot insisted when he finds her sitting next the dead body. He repeats until Eleanor repeated it over and over, and again to the police and once more to the media with feeling. 

She avoided Charles, his calls and his visits, until fate decided to fuck her once more- and she ended up soaked and crying on his doorstep. She's beginning to tally a body count these days. 

"Miss Guthrie? Doctor McGraw is here." Her assistant says cautiously through the jar in the door. Eleanor sniffs and puts out her cigarette in the ashtray. She buttons up her sleeves, hiding the rashes on her arms. 

"Bring him in." She says. James steps around the assistant, thanking her quietly, while Eleanor cracks the window a little more to air the room. "Hello James. I hear you're the one who brought the John Doe in today. How is he?" 

"John Doe?" James asks in surprise. "He's... fine I suppose." 

Eleanor nods, and sits against the window, entwining her fingers in her lap in hopes of hiding the tremor. "Still no word from the police?" 

"They asked me a few questions about where we found him... Eleanor, why are you asking me this? I'm not his doctor." James watches her with suspicion, hands met at his chest, twisting the ring on his index finger. 

"Curiosity I suppose." She lies flatly, itching to light another cigarette. Charles has done this to her, made her a paranoid mess but she's determined to fix this, to fix herself. "Listen, keep me updated on his condition will you?" 

"Eleanor what's this abo-" 

"Just do it, James." She pleads tiredly. They've know each other a long time, at first as a colleague of father and now as a colleague of her own. They're both older, more tired now. Eleanor remembers clearly the fundraiser where they were first introduced- he kissed her hand and smiled so sweetly, teenage Eleanor blushed and hid her face. Now his face is set in stone, softening with sadness instead of happiness. Would he ever look at her that way again? Not if he knew what she has done. 

He hesitates but nods. "I will." 

\- 

It becomes a regular occurrence for James; he and Max will sit together beside John, sometimes in somber silence but other times Max talks animatedly. He learns they work in the music industry together at a local recording studio, and that John is an amazing singer but prefers to work behind the scene as a recording artist, and roadie for the bands they're close with. 

They were both orphaned at a young age, and bonded over that and a love for music. He's deathly afraid of birds, and can't cook according to Max. James listens carefully to everything Max tells him, absorbing everything she has to offer. 

She tells him about the album they were collaborating on, with some Indie band called The Rangers, and that the front man is 'a hottie' but terribly obnoxious, but it's the guitarist she's got her eyes on- a willowly red head who barely says a word to her, but they have a connection she's sure. James often comes away from their conversation even more tired, and ends up falling asleep as soon as he gets home. He can't complain though, it's better than wallowing in the solitude. 

More often than not, Max is cheerful and witty in her banter but sometimes she sits, tearfully unable to find words with choking on them. James finds, to his surprise, he can hold her hand without cringing and can talk for her. He tells her about Miranda moving out, and how strange it is to live on his own again. He rants on about the lack of a good library in Nassau, and books he desperately wants but can't indulge in until Max can speak clearly again. 

He updates Eleanor on John's ever consistent condition, and tries to figure out why she wants to know. But his mind always wanders back to an anecdote Max tells him that day, about something dumb John did with a baked potato in a microwave, and he'll forget. 

Miranda meets him in the canteen for lunch one day, a friendly invitation for a catch-up. However, her ulterior motives reveal themselves quickly. 

"Well, Harrington told me-" 

"Why are all the nurses such gossips? Honestly, it's just catering to a stereotype created by television shows." James babbles. Miranda gives him a withering look before continuing. 

"He told me that your always with some girl in that John Doe's room." James doesn't say anything and Miranda sighs in defeat. She looks James up and down and smiles. "You look like you've been sleeping better." 

"I'm not dating her, Miranda." 

"I didn't think you were, James." 

"Well..." James mutters into his coffee, "Good." And takes a painful gulp. He wishes he could tell her about John, but Miranda wouldn't see it as Max does. She invites him over for dinner but he declines, excusing himself. 

James carries two cup of coffee with him and opens 312.5 door with his elbow. 

"I put sugar in both by accident so sorry if it's a bit sw-" He stops mid sentence as he turns into the room. At the foot of John's bed stands an imposing man, with long wild hair and a thin cigar hanging between his lips. He stares at James dispassionately. 

"Can I help you at all?" James asks with impertinence. 

"No. I was just leaving." The man replies gruffly, with a hint of amusement. As he passes James he murmurs. "Such a shame." With no attempt at sincerity. 

When he's gone, James discards the coffee's to the bin and goes to John's side. He checks the monitors for any sign of tampering, but everything is in order. Still, a feeling on unease creeps up James spine- where is Max? 

"What have you got yourselves into." James murmurs to John's sleeping form. A curl rests on John's cheek, out of place, and without thinking James reaches out and tucks it back behind his ear. He doesn't notice the subtle twitch of John's hand, and the flutter of his eyelashes, as his fingers brush against skin. 

\- 

Eleanor watches the tape over and over, like she's hoping the image will change if she plays it just one more time. Charles Vane steps out of the room, and glares up at the camera before walking away from 312.5. 

"Charles what did you do?" She murmurs to the empty office. She drops her head into her hands, and groans in frustration. Her mistakes seem to be coming back to haunt her all at once. She clearly remembers getting in the car but then everything becomes hazy. 

Did he run out into the road? Or did she swerve and hit him? 

She grips the painful airbag rash on her arm, trying to use the pain to focus. She's sure he had been conscious when she kept driving. Why did she keep driving? 

....... 

"Eleanor? What the fuck?" Charles spat in a hoarse, sleep ridden voice. Eleanor shakes her head, sending droplets of water over the carpet and Charles chest. 

"I-I think I've killed someone." She whispers desperately, pointing to the dented bumper and broken light. Charles looks shocked momentarily, then smiles at her. 

"It's okay, go inside. I'll deal with this." He takes the keys from her limp hand, and pushes her over the threshold with a secure hand. "Where did it happen?" 

"Near the crossing to Paradise Island." She tells him. As he turns and walks away she calls out. "Charles? What are you going to do?" 

"I'll deal with it." 

....... 

So he dealt with it- the police have no idea what happened. According to the detective he flirted into spilling the truth, they suspect he tried to commit suicide off the cliffs and washed up on the beach where they found him. 

Eleanor shakes a cigarette from the packet in her desk and cracks the window. As she perches on the sill, staring out at Nassau, she realises that if she doesn't go to prison she's going to hell. 

\- 

His shift goes horribly. Mr. Rogers dies on the way to the hospital, after a three car pile up on the motorway. His wife- with just a broken arm- grabbed him as she was wheeled past from ambulance 10 crying for him to her where he husband is. He told her they did everything they could, and he was so sorry for her loss. He hates those words, hates how empty and hopeless they are, but still she thanked him and touched his hand. 

When he goes to 312.5 Max is not there again, and it gnaws away at his nerves, but all he thinks of is his soft bed waiting at home. He looks at John and suddenly feels guilty. 

"Sorry bad week." He says, slipping into his chair. He reaches into his bag and fishes out his copy of Don Quixote. It's pages are delicate and worn, like the cracked spin holding them together, but James is too sentimental to let go of this particular copy. He turns to the book marked page, and runs his fingers over the pages. 

"It's an old favourite...'In a village of La Mancha, the name of which I have no desire to call to mind'-" He beings but pauses, glancing about himself. He reads out loud the next line, almost nervous to do so. "-'there lived not long since one of those gentlemen that keep a lance in the lance-rack, an old buckler, a lean hack, and a greyhound for coursing.'" He finds its quite comforting to hear the story aloud again and he starts to enjoy, leaning forward and performing the lines more passionately. 

At some point he realises he's not alone, and turns to find Max smiling softly at him. 

"Oh hello." James says, placing his thumb between the pages as a bookmark. 

"Sorry, you have a lovely reading voice." Max says. 

"I couldn't think of what to say so." He waves the novel in explanation. 

"John loves stories, he loves to tell them more than anything." Max laughs sadly. "But his shelves are full of books." 

when she doesn't move to sit down James asks. "Aren't you stay?" 

"No actually." Max sighs, fiddling with the strap of her bag. "Anne, the guitarist I told you about? She asked me to go on the tour with The Rangers. Just for the local states." She smiles bashfully. 

"How romantic." James smiles back and Max laughs in surprise. 

"I'm a bit scared, actually." She admits. "Something might happen when I'm gone, or he'll..." The words go unspoken but James knows what they are. 

"I have your number, I'll call if anything happens." 

Max steps forward and wraps her arms around James, confidently. James succeeds in not flinching away but stands stock still until it's finally over. 

"Thank you for look after him. I'll miss you." Max says as she lets him go. 

"Likewise." 

She turns her attention to John then, and sits on his bedside, taking his hand in hers. She rubs her thumb over his knuckles. "I'll see you soon, mon Cher, don't do anything silly while I'm gone." Max kisses his hand and gentle places it on his chest again. 

"Bye for now." She says fondly as he goes to the door. James waves as she shuts it behind her. 

"I wasn't expecting that." James says, taking his seat again and closing the book. "She's stopped blaming herself." He adds proudly, Max was too good of a woman to live with the weight of that kind of guilt. Suddenly he feel more tired, his eyelids straining to stay open. He pinches the bridge of his nose and throws his head back with a sigh. "I'm going too." He waits another few minutes before moving, listening to the rainfall grow heavy against the window pane. 

\- 

It's strange not seeing Max almost every day, James didn't realise how ingrained in her schedule she had become. He reads to John move, without Max to talk too he doesn't know what to say- so he lets the words of De Cervantes speak for him. When he does talk to John, he tries to stay light hearted but his thoughts always diverge to the man he saw in here the other week. 

"I should have asked Max." He scolds himself one afternoon after he finished Don Quixote. 

He ends up texting her, but not about that- worrying her from hundred of miles away didn't seem far. So he asks her what books John liked since he's finished Don Quixote, and Max replies 'King Lear :)'. 

Luckily, James enjoys Shakespeare and his routine settles once more into shifts with Abbie, Breakfast or Lunch with Miranda, and reading with John. Max sends a selfie or two with the band members-mostly just the redhead, Anne- and James saves them because he's sentimental. And perhaps because Max is a friend now. 

It takes him by surprise this year. He wakes up, groggy and trying to remember the dream he had as he makes coffee and reads the paper. It's when he notices the date in the corner that his heart stops for a moment. He picks up the phone and calls Miranda. She answers after two rings. 

"James." 

"Miranda I-" He doesn't know what to say. Neither of them speak for moment. 

"Come for breakfast?" 

"Okay." 

They meet at a small cafe down the road from the hospital, it's crowded with other doctors and nurses coming or going from their hospital shift. People sit sleepily, and the murmur is quite with exhaustion. James find Miranda alone at a corner table, a coffee for James and a tea for her. She looks tired, like she remembered the night before and got no sleep because of it and it makes James feel terrible. 

"I didn't remember." He admits quietly, avoiding her eye. "I woke up and it was like any other morning." 

"James." She says, and when her hand touches his he looks up and she is smiling. "Don't you see that's a good thing?" 

"It's good that I forgot the day Thomas died?" James replies in disbelief, yet Miranda nods. 

"That place... it held us down, James, we were stuck six years ago. Missing Thomas, and we thought... we thought being together would help but it just hurt more. You woke up this morning without that shadow, James, and I am thankful for that." She smiles tearfully and squeezes his hand. James bites the inside of his cheek and ducks his head in a failed attempt to stop himself crying. 

Anyone sitting in the cafe, awake enough to, could look up and see two tired old souls sitting together, and crying happy tears for something they'll never understand. But at that moment, all that matter was the feeling of hope rising in them. 

\- 

It rained constantly for five day. James and Abbie were busier than ever, called out for collisions due to low visibility and a surprise amount of people slipping in puddles and banging their heads. Abbie and he struggled to hide their smiles when the person would come too, and become very flustered over such a silly thing to do. 

At the end of his shifts he goes to John's bedside, and pulls the chair close to prop his feet up on the table and murmur tired words to John as he tries not to doze. John's hair is growing past his shoulders now, and the scar on his head is a raw pink shade instead of flaming red. He's almost fast asleep when Billy comes in talking loudly to someone. James sits up in his chair, and turns to see two police officers standing behind the nurse. 

"Afternoon officers." He croaks, standing self-consciously. 

"You're the paramedic we interviewed a few weeks ago right?" The first officer says, and John nods. the officer looks him up and down then turns to Billy again. "Here's his personal effects, since the case is closed we don't need them anymore." 

"The case is closed?" James asks curiously. 

"Attempted suicide." The second officer says, like its a government conspiracy. The officers leave with short goodbyes, and a thanks to Billy for assistance. 

"That Dufrense kid is weird." Billy mutters, then proffers the plastic bag to James. "Here, stick that in the table will you? His friend can have it when she gets back." 

"Uh-huh." James hums, and Billy leaves with a reluctant gait. James can't help himself- he tears the plastic open and looks inside. He doesn't expect much, he found no wallet or phone on John's body that day. There's the jacket he had worn, a soft blue thing that's stained and smells strongly of seaweed, James lays in carefully on the end of the bed. He finds a thin cotton scarf in a lighter shade of blue tucked into the pocket, he runs it over his fingers and returns it to the pocket. 

And that's it, except- James shakes the bag and notices a necklace resting in the corner of the bag. He turns the bag up and the jewelry falls heavily into his palm. He turns it over; it's a solid square on iron, or something like that, and etched into it is another square with prongs coming off each corner that curve and meet the outer square. It seems like such a clumsy thing, James couldn't believe it belonged to John. 

He replaces the coat and tucks it into the table as Billy requested, but he keep the necklace wrapped in his fingers. He sits and traces the metal over and over, wondering what could have pushed John to that cliff top, to take that long plunge over the side. He tries to picture it, but discards such dark thoughts as quickly as they came. 

"They're wrong." He mutters. His phone buzzes with a text from Dr. Gates with his regular Thursday offer of a pint down the Walrus. As he replies with a polite decline, James notices the time and the sleepy feeling settle back over him. 

He gets up and pauses next to John, about to utter his usual goodbye, but eyes falling to the hand resting on his chest. James thinks it's curious, how terrible with personal contact he is- but standing here he desperately wants to reach out. 

And so he caves, sliding his palm under John's and holding his hand lightly. But suddenly a jolt runs through John's body, flinching as the monitor starts to flash urgently. James jerks his hand away in shock, and the body goes still. 

He looks at the closed door, then back at John. Had it been his imagination? 

James pushes his fingertips against John's and he twitches. His heart begins to race as he steps closer and entwines their fingers. The monitor flashes and beeps loudly, and John's eyelids begin to flutter wildly. 

"Are you there? Can you hear me?" He says. It seems like a foolish question to ask a man who cannot answer, but something pulls them from him. 

James leans forward, his nose brushing against the high cheekbones. He hovers there, closing his eyes hard and listening to the manic noises around him. They all disappear as he chastely presses his warm lips to chapped one. He pulls away almost instantly, and finds his gaze met by sleepy blue ones. 

"Oh my God." James gasps in disbelief. 

John's brow furrows, lines appearing that James has never seen before and in a manic state of shock he wants to cry in relief because of it. 

"Oh my G- Nurse! Nurse!" James straightens to go to the door, but a weak hand tightens around.James gaps at the stirring, disorientated man before him who's staring at him in confusion. 

Billy and Harrington come jogging through the door, tired annoyance on their face but as they see John's open eyes they freeze next to James. 

"What-" Harrington stutters. 

"What happened?" Billy was the only person in the room who looked excited. 

"Oh shi- stop Max, she- the girl in the blue sweater!" James says loudly, flailing his free hand towards the door. Abbie whimpers but turns on her heel and runs back the way she came. 

James thinks he hears his knuckles crack as John's hand tightens on his, and James looks back. John is staring at him with a dazed expression. 

"Who are you?" 

His voice is dry and comes in barely a whisper, but James hears every word. 

"Your face..." He trails off, beautiful azure eyes rolling back into his hand as he slumps into the pillow once more into sleep. 

"What did you do?" James snarls, turning to Billy who's moved to the monitor across from James. He gives James a hard stare not many grow nurses dared to try. 

"He's lost his damn, leg, Flint he needs pain medication and rest." Billy replies calmly, "would you want to wake up from a coma, and find out you've lost your damn leg a minute later?" 

James doesn't reply. 

He looks back at John and realises their fingers are still entwined.

**Author's Note:**

> dun-dun-dun! yeah ive got no idea how being a paramedic works so sue meee ;)
> 
> look, i said one-shot but i may continue the story when i have time? thoughts?
> 
> thank you for reading! x


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